


Third

by haraya



Category: Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY, 天下統一恋の乱 Love Ballad | Samurai Love Ballad (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance, second love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 15:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12061860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haraya/pseuds/haraya
Summary: You know, looking at him, that his daughter is the most important girl in Kanetsugu’s life.You wonder what happened to the second.And some nights, when you tentatively allow yourself to indulge in the dreams of a foolish, restless heart, you can’t help but wonder if you couldn’t be the third.





	Third

**Author's Note:**

> I'm crying. Idk how this got to 9k+ words. Don't let that word count fool you, this is totally SFW. I just wanted a short fluffy piece but instead here we are. I'm never gonna attempt a historically accurate fic again because research is fucking hard, friends. I'm tired. So tired. I don't want to edit this anymore, I don't want to LOOK at this anymore. Just take it.
> 
> Anyway, here you go. My blood, sweat, and tears. Enjoy.

 

You learn to see him, at first, through other people’s eyes.

There are a lot of sides to Lord Kanetsugu—little pockets and crevices alternatively hidden and revealed when called for. He reminds you a little of those curious puzzle boxes you’d seen a merchant selling in a Kyoto festival once, and the mental image of a wooden Kanetsugu twisting and turning his limbs to suit whatever situation makes you giggle.

But—yes, there are a lot of sides to Kanetsugu, and though your days in Kasugayama turn into weeks, it still feels like you’ve barely scratched the surface.

To Ai he’s the doting father, all gentle smiles and warm hugs; to Yoshichi he’s the ideal older brother, someone to idolize and emulate. To Kageie and Kagetsugu he’s the dependable leader that balances out their Lord’s more playful whims, and to Lord Kenshin he’s the indispensable right-hand man, lieutenant and strategist and nanny all in one.

And yet, _and yet,_ it’s the side you’re not even sure is real that intrigues you the most—like the Kanetsugu that comes into the kitchen late at night, just when you’re putting away the dishes, looking bashful as anything as he asks if he could _trouble you for tea, please?_ while he works on his seemingly infinite documents.

“Surely it’s a bit late to be working, Lord Kanetsugu?” you say, concerned, even as you prepare the tea service regardless.

He sighs, dejected. “It’s the only time I can work uninterrupted by Lord Kenshin’s endless foolishness.”

You can’t help a sympathetic chuckle at his expression, and in return he offers you a tired little smile.

“No rest for the wicked, Milord?” you say lightly as you wait for the kettle to boil, measuring out the right amount of green tea leaves.

_“Wicked,_ eh?” he says, smiling wryly.

It strikes you suddenly what you’ve just said.

“I didn’t mean—” you say, backpedaling, but he cuts you off with a soft chuckle, low and throaty, the sound made seemingly illicit in the dim light of the kitchen.

_(Wicked, indeed.)_

“I’ve been called worse things,” he says, with a teasing edge to his smile that seems so out of place on his usually-scowling face that you do a double take to be sure it’s there—which it is, definitely. “And by far less likeable people, besides.”

(You wonder how low you’ve sunk, if something as simple as not being at the bottom of one man’s ‘likeable’ list sends your heart battering against your ribcage.)

You remember, too, the Kanetsugu that deftly steps between you and the other castle inhabitants—Lord Kenshin in particular—when he deems the distance between you to be too small.

“He’s only going to be here until the snow melts,” Lord Kanetsugu says with finality.

“Eeeh?” Lord Kenshin whines. “But Kanetsuguuu—”

_“No buts!”_ he snaps. “He’s going back to Kyoto come spring. Isn’t that right, _Yahiko?”_

When Kanetsugu says your brother’s name it’s as if he thinks saying it enough times and with enough force will make for a strong enough deterrent against the other men in the castle.

Kanetsugu is insistent on keeping your true identity secret, perhaps even more so than you.

You wonder how much of it is because he wants to keep you safe . . . and if perhaps even a small part of it is because he wants to keep you for himself.

(The thought of the latter thrills you more than it ought.)

And _then_ there’s the Kanetsugu that, once, when you passed each other in the hall, caught you as you tripped over your own feet and your damnable, easily-distracted heart, righting you one-handed with a strength you’d never have expected from his slight frame.

You can’t help but suck in a harsh breath as he stands sinfully, impossibly close, one arm still around your hip to steady you, his other hand deftly rearranging the onigiri on the tray you grip with still-trembling hands.

He steps back, ostensibly to send you along on your way to Lord Kenshin’s chambers, though you wonder, really, as the barest brush of his fingers trail up your waist, then along your elbow, before he leans in just a fraction, an arrogant twist at the corner of his mouth as he breathes, _“Careful, now.”_

And you just stand there, stunned, watching his back as he retreats down the hall, wondering if you’re simply imagining the smug satisfaction in his step as he disappears around the corner.

 

\---

 

You settle easily into life at Kasugayama—secret gender notwithstanding—in no small part thanks to the people who welcome you with open arms and empty, easily-satisfied stomachs.

_(Some,_ you think, _endeavoring to welcome you more warmly than most.)_

After serving the morning meal in the Main Hall, you decide to call Lord Kenshin from his room, seeing as he hasn’t joined the rest of his retainers for breakfast yet.

_“So help me,_ if you do not leave your bed _this instant,_ I _will_ drag you out of it, don’t even test me—!”

Lord Kanetsugu’s voice is audible even from a distance, followed by a loud _thwack_ and Lord Kenshin’s cry of distress.

“Ow! _Ow!_ I’m up, _I’m up!”_

You round the corner to see Kanetsugu stalking out of Lord Kenshin’s chambers, slamming the shoji doors closed with excessive force.

“Er,” you say, unsure if it’s wise to interrupt. “Lord Kanetsugu . . . ?”

“Oh,” he says, eyes wide when he notices you. “Yahiko. What—”

The doors slam open again, revealing Lord Kenshin’s smiling face.

“Yahiko! Is it time for breakfast? It is, right?”

“It has been for some time,” Lord Kanetsugu answers for you, irate, “but you will not be joining us until you finish going through those documents in time for the War Council.”

Lord Kenshin pouts. “But Kanetsuguuu—”

Kanetsugu doesn’t deign to reply, his scowl deepening as he firmly points Lord Kenshin back into the room.

The doors slide quietly shut.

You stand there, unsure how to proceed, but Kanetsugu smiles at you, stepping close to whisper: “I’m sorry, but could I trouble you to bring both our meals here?”

You smile back, nodding silently, and hurry to fulfill his request.

When you return, tray laden with food meant for two, Kanetsugu is sitting resolutely on the veranda outside Lord Kenshin’s room.

“I can _hear_ you not working in there,” he says, the threat unspoken. But he smiles when he sees you, and motions quietly for you to set down his portion beside him before bringing Lord Kenshin his meal.

_“Yahiko!”_ Lord Kenshin cries enthusiastically when you slide open the door. “You’ve brought me food! You are _such_ a blessing—”

“You’re still not leaving your room until you finish reading those documents,” Kanetsugu calls out, swiftly and mercilessly shutting down his lord’s enthusiasm.

Lord Kenshin’s lower lip juts out in a sullen pout. “Isn’t he being such a meanie, Yahiko?” he asks, eyes wide and pleading as he turns to you.

You bow. “Perhaps if Milord did not provoke him as much, Lord Kanetsugu could be convinced to be kinder.”

“Eeeh!?” Lord Kenshin’s cry of despair follows you as you slip out of the room. “Hey, Kanetsugu, have you turned Yahiko against me, too!?”

You settle down on the veranda as you wait for their dishes. Beside you, Kanetsugu smiles into his teacup, listening to Lord Kenshin’s grumbling with an almost boyish mischief playing around the corners of his crooked smile.

It strikes you, suddenly, how _young_ Kanetsugu must be—certainly not more than thirty, if the lack of fine lines on his face is any indication. You tell him so, quietly enough that only he hears, as the soft clink of chopsticks and the crinkle of unfurling scrolls start up again in the room behind you.

“I was twenty-two when I came to the Uesugi,” Kanetsugu tells you, a rueful smile on his lips as he sips at his tea. “Though unsurprisingly the years since have aged me more than I really am.”

“You still look rather young, Milord,” you say.

His eyebrows crumple.

“It’s the height, isn’t it?” he asks wryly.

“What? _No!_ I—”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m _not—”_ you protest, full of earnestness, but then you see his smile, and you realize: “You’re teasing me.”

“Perhaps,” he says, then amends: “Yes. A little bit.” His smile grows wider, stretching lazily across his face like a cat in the sunlight. “You’re very easily flustered.”

You huff, indignant, and turn your reddening face away as Kanetsugu tries and fails to stifle a chuckle.

_“Kanetsugu,”_ Lord Kenshin calls from inside, delighted incredulity coloring his tone, “are you _laughing_ out there?”

“No one will be laughing anytime soon if you don’t hurry up and finish those documents,” he retorts, earning him another quiet grumble from within Lord Kenshin’s room.

As the silence settles, you glance at Kanetsugu out of the corner of your eye, but he’s looking out at the garden pensively, his cup of tea left to cool in his idle hands.

A single drop of green sits temptingly at the corner of his mouth, and you’re helpless but to stare at it until he glances your way.

You turn your head away so fast you think you might’ve given yourself whiplash, but still the low, throaty chuckle you hear beside you makes your cheeks burn despite the late winter chill lingering in the garden air.

 

\---

 

_"There_ you are,” Lord Kanetsugu says as he rounds the door to the kitchen.

“Papa!”

Ai immediately hurls herself into her father’s arms, and you smile as he sweeps her up into an embrace, unmindful of the stickiness her hands leave on his cheeks when she kisses his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the gentleness that always arises around his daughter bleeding into his voice even as he turns his attention to you. “She hasn’t been any trouble, has she?”

“No trouble at all, Milord,” you say, mirroring his smile with your own. “On the contrary, Ai has been nothing but helpful.”

“Yahiko taught me how to make yuki-usagi, Papa!”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah!” Ai kicks her feet a little, asking to be set down, and takes off as soon as her feet touch the ground. She quickly returns with a plate of the little treats, proudly showing off her handiwork. “Look, Papa, aren’t they cute?”

“Aha, so they are.”

He ruffles her hair, looking so _proud,_ standing there silhouetted against the sun, and suddenly you find yourself saying: “Milord, if you’d like—and if Ai doesn’t mind, of course—she could stay here with me in the kitchen during the day. I could certainly use the help.”

Surprise flits across his fine features, before he does that thing he does when he’s thinking _(you know, you’ve noticed, how could you not?)_ where he rolls his eyes upwards as if he could find all the answers he is looking for in the space above him.

“I suppose it’d be better than just leaving her to her own devices all day . . .” he mutters, finally.

“How about it, Ai?” you ask her, smiling. “Do you want to help me around the kitchen?”

“Will you teach me to cook like you do, Yahiko?” she asks, excited. She reminds you a little of Yoshichi, looking like that, and you wonder if it runs in the family.

(Particularly, you wonder if Kanetsugu could ever look like that—bright-eyed with excitement and pure, unabashed joy.)

(You make it your mission to find out.)

“Of course.”

“Papa, can I, _please?”_ Ai says, turning to her father with potent, pleading eyes. No one could resist those eyes—especially not the man who loves her more than life.

He smiles, running a hand over the top of her head.

“Alright, then. Be good for Yahiko, okay?” He glances up at you, graces you with a quick upturn of the corner of his mouth. “Thank you for this.”

“I’m glad to do it,” you tell him honestly, before you add, bashful: “And you’ve been nothing but kind to me. If this helps—even a little—then I’m gladder for it still.”

There’s always something _tired_ about Kanetsugu. Exhaustion settles around his shoulders, clinging to his frame as much as the peculiar scent of sandalwood seems to cling to Lord Kenshin.

(For someone so young, Kanetsugu has the eyes of someone who has borne more pain than most people acquire in a lifetime.)

When he smiles like he does now, it’s nothing like Ai’s, or Yoshichi’s—there is always some shadow clouding his eyes, a melancholia in the quirk of his lips.

_(But,_ you think to yourself, _it’s a lovely smile anyway.)_

 

\---

 

Lord Higuchi Souemon arrives at Kasugayama in the second month of the year—to pay his respects during Lord Kenshin’s birthday, and to visit his sons.

The atmosphere in Kanetsugu’s chambers is lighthearted when you arrive, the sound of soft laughter suffusing the room as you prepare the tea service.

_There is always something about family,_ you think, _that feels so, so warm._

“Ai,” Lord Souemon says, beckoning her over and settling her on his lap. “You’re growing more and more like your mother every year.”

You can’t quite keep the surprise off your face as you pour; you’d always assumed Ai took after her father. Yoshichi catches your expression and smiles.

“It’s the eyes,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“It’s more the smile, I think,” Kanetsugu says with a smile of his own, eyes soft as he looks at his daughter, and—strangely—a little unfocused, as if he’s seeing something else.

_Someone_ else.

Lord Souemon guffaws, pinching his granddaughter’s cheeks. “Thank heavens for that. If she took after your smile, Kanetsugu, she’d look like this.” He scowls, eyebrows scrunching—a familiar expression on an unfamiliar face.

A snort escapes you unbidden, which earns you a glare from Kanetsugu, and you blush, repentant, as Lord Souemon continues the conversation.

“Speaking of mothers, have you no plans to give Ai a new one anytime soon?”

Kanetsugu chokes on his tea.

“I don’t think he’s met any women lately,” Ai reports with a sort of disappointed tone, seemingly unconcerned by her father attempting to cough out an entire lung by the sound of it. “There aren’t any women here at the castle.”

You risk a surreptitious glance at Kanetsugu and find him already looking at you out of the corner of his eye. He turns swiftly away, carelessly wiping away the trail of green tea dripping down his chin with the back of his hand.

“Yahiko, you may resume your regular duties,” he says quietly. A dismissal, perhaps—or an offer of escape.

“You can’t keep mourning her forever, Kanetsugu,” Lord Souemon says, almost a reprimand, as if his son hadn’t spoken at all.

You bow and try to leave as unobtrusively as you can, but Lord Souemon continues even before you’ve completely shut the door.

“It is as if you are in winter,” he says sagely, “but winter always turns to spring.”

 

\---

 

Winter is slow to leave the north, meaning Echigo is dusted in fine snow even now.

You find, strangely, that you don’t mind; stranger still, you almost dread the thought of spring—a perplexing, nameless fear gripping your heart each time you think of days growing longer and warmer.

(That’s a lie; you know _exactly_ why you wish spring would never come.)

You try to make the most of the last days of a dying season, cooking with a passion and ferocity you’ve never had before.

You fill the shortened sunlight hours with other things, too—like teaching Ai how to identify wild herbs in the mountains surrounding the castle, or attempting to help Lord Kenshin organize the treasury, or sitting in quiet contemplation with Tora in your lap, enjoying the peaceful stillness with Hotaru a few feet away.

You still spend most of your time in the kitchen, though—almost always with Ai shadowing you, although occasionally Yoshichi or Kageie would appear, asking for snacks or just watching you prepare the food, and recently Kagetsugu has taken to dropping by for an hour every day, making kusa-mochi with your quiet pointers and encouragement.

One evening, after Kagetsugu leaves the kitchen with a bashful _thank you,_ intent on feeding his successful batch of mochi to Kageie and Yoshichi, a quiet voice interrupts you as you put away the clean utensils for the night.

“You really shouldn’t get so close to them, you know.”

When you turn, Kanetsugu is there, leaning against the doorframe with a frown on his face.

“I’m sorry, Milord,” you say, turning back to finish your task, “but I’m not here to make enemies of everyone.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he says, stalking further into the kitchen. “How much harder would it be to hide what you are if you spend more time around them than you already do? I know they all look dense as a brick sometimes, but they can be very perceptive—and Kagetsugu more than most.”

“It couldn’t hurt to make friends, could it?”

“Don’t bother,” he says, voice low and quiet and, you think, a little bitter underneath it all. “After you leave Echigo you’ll likely never see any of us again.”

There’s that fear, again—the one you refuse to name.

“I—”

“You’re leaving come spring,” he cuts you off. “Don’t forget that.”

“But what if—” _(Oh, oh, what if?)_ “—what if I don’t have to?”

He scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you have to.”

“Says who? Lord Kenshin says I may stay.”

_“Lord Kenshin_ doesn’t know you’re a woman.”

“He doesn’t have to. I can keep being Yahiko—”

_“Are you out of your mind!?”_

Insistently, with a sureness you’ve never had before: “I want to stay.”

“No,” he says, swiftly shutting you down. “You don’t.”

“I want to _stay!”_ you say, your words ending in a shout too loud for the dark of the kitchen. “I want to stay,” you say again, quieter, though no less true. “Here, at Kasugayama.” And then, so quietly that you wonder if you said it at all: “With you.”

But you must have, because Kanetsugu takes a sharp breath—

—before he closes the distance and kisses you—hard, demanding, asking for anything and everything you’re willing to give.

_All of it,_ you think, kissing him back as if he’ll be able to read your scattered thoughts through the press of your mouth. _You can have all of it._

And when his tongue—usually so sharp, so quick to cut—slides between your lips all soft and warm, a needy moan rises in the back of your throat. You press harder against him, breasts flush against the planes of his chest, legs parting around one of his, and—

It.

Feels.

So.

_Good._

_Kanetsugu has known pain,_ you think, through a haze of incoherent _yes_ and _please_ and _more._ _But oh, oh, the things he knows about pleasure._

And as suddenly as he’d kissed you, Kanetsugu wrenches himself away, leaving you feeling bereft save for where his hands still grip the fabric at your hips, trembling with the desperation to keep you away whereas not half a moment ago he’d been desperate for quite the opposite.

“We can’t,” he says emphatically, eyes wide in something like shock and a little bit like fear.

“We can’t?” you say, incredulous, hands still grasping at his shoulders.

His jaw clicks shut, eyes narrowing as he corrects himself, _“I_. . . can’t.”

He moves away and begins walking backwards toward the door. You watch in a kind of dream-like haze—everything slowed down to perfect clarity as he seems to pull farther away than you could hope to follow.

“Lord Kanetsugu—”

_“Don’t,”_ is all he says, before he walks out the door completely.

As Kanetsugu beats a hasty, frantic retreat down the hall, leaving you with your still-racing heart and the lingering impression of his scorching kiss upon your lips, you realize, suddenly, that—for the first time you remember seeing—after he’d kissed you, his eyes had been achingly, wonderfully _clear._

 

\---

 

Even as far north as Echigo, spring—inevitably—arrives.

You feel like you’re walking around the castle on tiptoe, turning every corner half-expecting to see someone with your packed belongings in hand, ready to turn you out.

Instead, when you come into the Main Hall one day to serve the morning meal, Lord Kenshin says, with a winning smile: “You’ve never seen the cherry blossoms in Echigo, have you, Yahiko?”

Just off the dais, Kanetsugu freezes, chopsticks midway from his bowl to his mouth.

You think perhaps you know where this conversation leads.

You run straight toward it anyway.

“No, Milord.”

_“The roads,”_ Kanetsugu interrupts, tone clipped, _“are open.”_

“It’s a once in a lifetime chance,” Lord Kenshin addresses him, still smiling serenely. “Like a parting gift, of sorts. Right, Yahiko?”

You swallow down everything else—the doubt, the sting of rejection both said and unsaid, the uncertainty pooling in your heart, that you _know_ is in his, too—and leave only boldness sitting at the top of your throat: “I can make dango.”

You like to think you’re no fool—you know that this is a delaying tactic at best, but you seize it with both hands anyway, grateful for each added day you spend waiting for the flowers to bloom.

(Your heart is, perhaps, a little more foolish than the rest of you.)

Nevertheless, you put your entire foolish heart into practicing making dango for the flower-viewing, which has, somehow, gone from a simple invitation extended to a lowly city cook and turned into one of Lord Kenshin’s grand schemes, and everyone who is anyone in Kasugayama Castle is expected to be there.

And so, even as days grow warmer and longer, you find them still full—cooking three square meals for a castle full of people you now know by name, plus teaching Ai everything and anything you can remember from your own childhood spent in the kitchen—your own little parting gift, just between the two of you.

You try to imprint this onto your memory: the way Ai lights up as she presents her dango for inspection, proud as anything. The sound of birds outside the kitchen window, singing in branches just starting to bud. The way half the dango meant for the retainers’ mid-training break always, _always_ disappears, and the way a third of the stolen treats ever so _mysteriously_ reappear when you shout _“Hotaru!”_ in a fond, exasperated tone—but only once you’ve turned your back.

You try to remember, too, the exact moment Kanetsugu starts _looking_ at you again, after a week of silence and refusing eye contact, when you bring him his nightly tea.

“Thank you, Ya—” He stops, clears his throat.

When he thanks you again, it’s with a whisper of _your_ name, and no one else’s.

And that’s— _something,_ certainly.

(A victory of the smallest, most precious kind.)

When the cherry trees finally bloom, Lord Kenshin leads the cheerful company to the hills overlooking the Seki River, where everyone lends a hand in setting up, their joyful cries creating a festive air under the pink-laden boughs.

You take a bucket down to the river, Ai at your heels, to draw water for tea. You grant yourself the indulgence of dipping your toes in the frigid water, reminiscing about the river near your old Kyoto home as you take in the view of the Seki rushing past, inundated with the last of the melting snows.

“Ai,” you call, turning to her, “shall we be getting ba—”

Fear grips your heart when you see her leaning too far past the slick rocks, seemingly reaching for a flower growing in the shallows, and in your haste to reach her you drop the bucket, splashing its contents on the banks.

_“Ai!”_ You reach her, thankfully, just as she starts to pitch forward into the water, pulling her back by the collar of her kimono and yanking her to safety. Relief floods you when you see her land on the mossy bank, only to realize too late that the momentum of your spin throws you off-balance, sending you into the river.

_“Yahiko!”_

Someone calls for you, their voice barely audible as you hit the water. One moment your vision is blurred by bubbles and white water, the next you’re looking at the gray skies over Echigo before going under again. You flail around, desperate for something to hold on to in the current.

A large hand grasps your arm, its warmth shocking against the cold of the water, and hauls you out into the shallows.

You cough and sputter as your head breaks the surface, and you look up to see Yoshichi wading in the river as he drags you ashore.

“Yahiko, are you okay!? Thank goodness I came to see if you needed help carrying the water!” He finally manages to pull you back onto dry land, both of you breathing hard. “Are you—”

His eyes drift downward, taking in the way your sopping clothes cling to the curves of your frame like a second skin.

Yoshichi starts screaming.

Kanetsugu crests the hill, making his way over at a frantic run with Kageie at his heels. “Ai! Yahiko! I heard the shouting, what’s—”

_“Brother!”_ Yoshichi says, voice high with panic. “Ya-Ya-Yahiko’s a—he— _he’s a—!”_

“Girl,” Kageie finishes, deadpan.

Yoshichi screams again.

“Oh, for—” Kanetsugu swears irritably, moving to kneel in front of you. _“Stop screaming,”_ he snaps at his brother, before turning to you, warm eyes full of concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you answer, a little shakily, perhaps, but truthfully.

“Ai,” he says, worried eyes turning to his daughter. “What happened?”

“There was a flower and I wanted to get it and I slipped and I almost fell and Yahiko saved me and then he fell in too and Uncle Yocchi got him out and now he’s a girl and am I in trouble?”

Kanetsugu sighs, more tired than you’ve ever seen him. His eyes are closed as he pinches the bridge of his nose, seemingly fighting off a headache.

“Yoshichi, get my horse.”

“But—”

_“Do as I say!”_ he barks, temper getting the best of him. “Kageie, give me your haori.”

Kageie complies, not even giving a token complaint as Kanetsugu wraps the coat around your shivering frame.

“Where are you going?” he asks, as bored as he always sounds.

“Back to the castle. She’ll catch a cold if she stays out like this.”

Kageie nods, unquestioning, as Yoshichi appears with Kanetsugu’s horse.

“Ai,” he says, “stay with Kageie and Uncle Yoshichi, alright?”

“Okay.”

You yelp as he lifts you onto the saddle, making sure you’re steady before he swings himself up behind you in one fluid movement. He does it all quickly and efficiently, with a quiet strength you know he possesses but hardly ever see.

“Tell Lord Kenshin we went ahead,” he says, barely waiting for Kageie’s silent nod before he snaps the reins and leads his horse into a quick canter.

The wind from your passage is freezing against your wet face, making you shiver even as you practically drown in Kageie’s too-big haori. Your eyes drift closed, exhaustion settling in as the adrenaline wears off, leaving a numbing cold in its wake.

And yet, when Kanetsugu rests his chin atop your head, his arm steady and sure around your shaking form, the only thing you feel is warmth.

 

\---

 

You come down with a fever, despite Kanetsugu’s best efforts.

You stay confined to your bed, too sick to move, with Ai hovering worriedly by your bedside and changing the cloth on your forehead more often than is strictly necessary.

“Ai,” you croak weakly. “You don’t have to do this. You should get some rest, too.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, sounding close to tears. “It’s my fault.”

“It isn’t,” you reassure her, brushing her cheek with the back of your hand. “Don’t cry, Ai. It was an accident, that’s all.”

She’s still sniffling, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, so you tell her: “Go get some sleep, Ai. I’ll be fine again in a few days, you’ll see.”

She sniffs. “Can I sleep here?”

Gently, you try to shake your head. “You might catch my cold—”

“Papa always stays with me when I’m sick,” she tells you, “so I want to stay with you until you’re better, too!”

You smile, feeling your expression soften at her kindness. “Alright, but if your father comes to get you, you have to go with him, alright?”

“Okay.”

She crawls in next to you, and you shift to lie on your side, bringing her under the curve of your arm and rhythmically patting her back as you hum a half-remembered lullaby from your own childhood. You drift in and out of sleep, the line between consciousness and unconsciousness so blurred that when the door to your room quietly slides open, you’re not certain if you’re dreaming or awake.

Kanetsugu lingers for a moment in the open doorway, before shuffling into the room tentatively and crossing over to your bed. His hand hovers over his daughter, and you think, hazily, that he must have come to collect her.

“Lord Kanetsugu . . .?” you mumble, still half-asleep and unable to decipher the expression on his face as he looks from his daughter to you and back again.

After a moment of uncertainty, he sighs, his hand moving instead to draw up the covers over you both, the tip of his thumb just barely brushing your jaw as he settles the blanket over your shoulder.

_“Sleep,”_ he says, and his voice is so kind, so gentle, that you can do nothing else but obey.

 

\---

 

When your fever finally breaks, days later, you wake slowly to a peaceful morning, with sunlight filtering through the shoji doors and birdsong on the wind.

It’s a little unsettling, considering how mornings in Kasugayama are usually—

“I cannot _believe_ you!”

There it is.

You get up, stretching limbs sore from disuse, intending to change into your usual clothes. However, a large wooden box by the door immediately demands your attention, with a note in Lord Kenshin’s messy hand that simply reads: _Wear this._

Inside is one of the finest kimonos you’ve ever seen in your life, which you vaguely recognize as one of those from Lord Kenshin’s treasury. You could probably sell your family’s restaurant and still not have enough to buy it.

You debate for a while whether to just wear your normal clothes, but upon discovering their _mysterious_ disappearance, you’re left with little choice.

You quietly leave your room for the first time in days, squinting at the bright sunlight and shifting your shoulders under the unfamiliar drape of fabric. You follow the voices to the Main Hall, and peek in to find Lord Kenshin and Lord Kanetsugu in a heated debate, with Yoshichi, Kageie, and Kagetsugu’s heads turning to look back and forth between them.

“But it’ll be so much _sadder_ here without her food, don’t you think?” Lord Kenshin says, smiling brightly, a hint of teasing in his eyes.

“Oh no. We’ve already agreed to send her back to Kyoto once the roads clear, which has _already_ been extended because of your flower-viewing party!”

“ _Nooo,”_ Lord Kenshin says patiently, as if speaking to a child. “We agreed to send _Yahiko_ back to Kyoto.”

_“They’re the same person!”_ Kanetsugu roars. “And need I remind you that it was _you_ who banned women from the castle in the first place!?”

“Well, Ai’s already here, isn’t she? What’s one more?” There’s very definitely something teasing about Lord Kenshin’s smile, now. “And besides, we can’t very well send a lovely young woman all the way to Kyoto on her own, yes?”

_“You—!”_

“Speaking of.” Lord Kenshin waves a hand, beckoning you in from where you’re half-hidden behind the door. “Come in, please.”

You nervously slide the door open in full, immediately focusing your gaze at your feet when the sight of you in your kimono elicits a collective gasp from the retainers.

“See?” Lord Kenshin says, seemingly to no one in particular, smiling enigmatically. “Lovely.”

“Yahiko, you’re so pretty!” Yoshichi exclaims, eyes as bright as his smile.

“Her name,” Kanetsugu sighs tiredly, “is not Yahiko.”

Your cheeks burn as you take tentative steps into the hall, moving to kneel before the dais. Everyone’s gaze is on you, but none feel so heavy, so _palpable,_ as Kanetsugu’s, and when you glance his way, his face is fixed in a careful non-expression, save for his eyes—turbulent, conflicted, but with the same focused clarity that you’d glimpsed the night he kissed you.

When he tears his gaze pointedly away, you have to hide your disappointment, bowing low to Lord Kenshin as he offers you a placid smile.

“Got anything to say?” he asks, tilting his head.

_Too many,_ you think. _Not enough._

Instead, you settle for: “I am sorry for the deception, Milord.”

“You’re forgiven,” he says magnanimously, his smile never wavering. “But whatever are we going to do with you now?”

_“We,”_ Kanetsugu cuts in, “are sending her home to her family where she belongs.”

“Don’t be silly, Kanetsugu,” Lord Kenshin chides. “She can belong wherever and with whomever she wants to belong.”

Kanetsugu hisses under his breath, bristling as he glares daggers at his lord.

Lord Kenshin ignores him, turning to you instead, his blue eyes twinkling and—somehow— _knowing._ “What do you think?”

You press your forehead to the floor, suddenly conscious of how apparent your feelings seem to be on your face. “I only do as Milord commands.”

He hums—the elongated, thoughtful sound underscored with playful mischief. “You sure?”

“Yes, Milord.”

“Alright!” Lord Kenshin says, clapping his hands. “Who votes to let her stay as our cook?”

“And since _when_ have we been a democracy!?”

“Me!” Yoshichi answers right away, talking over his brother’s objection with a hand raised high in the air.

“Me,” Kageie says almost immediately after.

Kagetsugu quietly raises a hand. “I would like her to stay, as well.”

“Wonderful!”

“No, it is _not_ wonderful! Just _once,_ can’t you be a little less selfish for _once_ in your life!?”

Lord Kenshin smiles. “Not until _you_ allow yourself to be a little more selfish for once in _your_ life, Kanetsugu.”

_That_ stuns Kanetsugu into silence for the space of a heartbeat, and he blinks incredulously, his mouth opening wordlessly until finally he sputters, almost indignant: “Now listen here, you! You can’t just—”

Lord Kenshin looks straight ahead. “And what do _you_ think, Ai?”

Everyone freezes, all eyes shifting to the entrance of the hall, where Ai is shyly peering through a crack in the door.

“Ai,” Kanetsugu says, an exhausted reprimand. “What have I told you about eavesdropping?”

“I’m sorry, Papa, but—” she runs inside, throwing her thin arms around your waist. “I don’t want her to leave either!”

“Well, that settles it, then!” Lord Kenshin cries gaily.

“It does _not!_ Ai, I know you’re fond of her, but—”

_“Milords!”_

An urgent cry from a retainer sounds through the hall. A harried runner appears at the door, sweat lining his brow, evidently having come far to deliver his news.

“Lord Murakami Yoshikiyo is requesting aid,” he reports. “Takeda Shingen’s forces are marching on Katsurao Castle!”

Lord Kenshin merely smiles. _“Interesting.”_

With a single word, the atmosphere in the room shifts as all thoughts turn to battle.

“Kanetsugu,” he continues, “summon the War Council, if you please.”

“Milord.”

With a curt bow, Kanetsugu rises, and as he turns toward the door he indicates with a nod that it’s time for you and Ai to leave. As you exit the hall, Ai’s hand in yours, the rest of the retainers file in, swift and serious, and you watch with a strange sort of forlorn feeling as the doors close behind them, nervousness making its home your chest as they once again prepare for war.

 

\---

 

“Lord Kanetsugu?”

You stand outside his chambers, watching the candlelight still flickering within, holding the tea you know he wants but has stopped asking for as of late.

There’s a shuffling sound, and then the sound of a brush falling onto the floor, followed by the distinct sound of a knee hitting the underside of a table.

You’re not certain whether to laugh or be concerned, but he calls you in, cutting your internal debate short.

“Working late still, Milord?” you say lightly, trying to make conversation as you pour the tea.

He sighs. “I’m just—” He runs a frazzled hand through his hair, messing it up more than usual, and you tamp down the urge to smooth it back into place. “Making sure work still gets done in my absence.”

True enough, the scrolls and papers on his desk seem to be arranged in separate piles. The largest is a neat stack of scrolls with a note that says _Please actually read these, Lord Kenshin!_ written in large, slightly angry-looking characters. There’s also a small stack of what looks like a set of instructions for Yoshichi, and a single folded piece of paper with Ai’s name written on the front with great care.

All of it only serves to give you the impression that he’ll be gone for quite a while.

“Will you and Kageie be alright by yourselves?” you ask, fighting the compulsion to wring your hands.

He scoffs. “I’m more concerned about what kind of trouble Lord Kenshin will get into without me here, as opposed to not having him with us on the battlefield.”

“Oh. Right.”

If he notices how nervous you are, he chooses not to comment on it, focusing instead on arranging the documents on his desk.

“To be fair,” he says, “it doesn’t seem like it’ll be quite a big battle, so perhaps it makes sense for him to stay. In any case, you—and . . . everyone else in the castle . . . will be safer with him around.”

“Of course.”

_"Although,”_ he continues, sounding a little bit miffed, “you’d be much safer in, say, _Kyoto._ However . . .” He trails off, the implication clear.

He’s always been the most adamant about sending you home, and is obviously still unhappy about Lord Kenshin’s decision. As you sit there, watching him work by candlelight, you come slowly to the worrying realization that perhaps it is because—

“You don’t want me around.”

Finally, _finally,_ he looks up at you, his expression surprised before he fixes it into a frown.

“That isn’t . . . precisely true,” he admits, glancing nervously away.

“Then what is?” Your words take on a demanding tone, now, but you’re so tired, and so worried, and so _done,_ that you can’t really find it in you to care. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Lord Kanetsugu?”

_“Yes,”_ he laughs—a desperate, desolate sound. “But not in the way you think.”

“What does that mean?”

He looks right at you, now, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes it impossible for you to look away.

“It means,” he says, “that I am not as sorry for kissing you as I ought to be.”

Your breath catches, your heart set running at a galloping pace, and in the hurricane of your emotions all you can think to say is: “I don’t think you ought to be sorry at all.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I _am_ sorry, though,” he says. “For . . . afterwards.”

And then he surprises you by bowing low, in a way that someone of his station normally would never have to someone of yours.

“I would like to apologize,” he says. “Running was unfair to you.”

“Lord Kanetsugu—” you try to interrupt, a little disconcerted by the formality with which he addresses you.

“No, listen, you—” he sighs, straightening, and tugs fitfully at the ends of his hair. “You deserve an explanation, at least.”

And— _yes,_ you do, but—

You look at him now, in the dim light of the room, and your heart _breaks_ for him.

There is such _sadness_ in his eyes, and you know, suddenly, with certainty, that if his wife loved him even half as much as you do now, she would never, ever, _ever_ want to see this look on his face.

So you stay quiet, half to listen to the explanation you know you deserve, and half to allow Kanetsugu to untangle the conflicting emotions eating him up from the inside out.

“You’re—” he laughs bitterly, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “You’re nothing like Osen,” he says, and before you can even think to ask who Osen is his next words make it clear.

“I—I loved my wife,” he says, and it sounds like he’s trying to convince someone, though you’re not sure who. _“Love_ her. Still. And you—” He lets out a harsh breath. “You deserve better than to be a replacement.”

“I’m not trying to be,” you say, earnest, and even in the dim light you can see that this takes him by surprise.

“What are you—?”

“I _know_ you love your wife. I know you love your daughter even more. I’m not asking to be the most important woman in your life, Kanetsugu,” you tell him, wanting, _needing_ him to understand. “I just want to be part of it.”

His eyes are infinitely, immeasurably sad when he says, “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do. _I do._ I know what I’m asking for.” And then, softly, shyly: “I know what I want.”

He doesn’t say anything. Perhaps he can’t.

“I apologize,” you say. “I’m not trying to rush you, or to pressure you one way or the other, especially right before you leave for the front. So for now . . .” You reach into your sleeve, grasping the familiar pouch with your broken hairpin. You set it on the floor, pushing it across the space between you. “The only thing I ask . . . is that you come home.”

He’s silent, eyes dark and flickering with an emotion you can’t name. But then he reaches out, his shapely fingers curling around your charm, and you watch as he slowly, deliberately tucks it into his kimono, next to his heart.

And then he bows again, forehead pressed to the floor in supplication.

“Please take care of Ai while I’m gone.”

You smile—a little bit out of amusement, and mostly out of fondness—and bow in return.

“You needn’t even ask.”

You look up at the same time, and there—just on the right-hand corner of his mouth—is a small, secret smile meant for no one else but you.

 

\---

 

Kasugayama is uncharacteristically quiet with half the men gone, and in the stillness of one spring evening, you wake to the sound of someone shuffling outside your room. Blearily, you open your eyes just as a sliver of moonlight streaks through a crack in the shoji doors.

“Hey,” Ai whispers, peeking through the opening. “Um,” she says shyly, looking so small and pale in the moonlight. “Can I sleep here with you?”

Still half-asleep, you wave her inside, holding the covers up expectantly, waiting as she slips into the room and shuts the doors before crawling in beside you.

You feel her warmth settle next to you, and you almost drift back into sleep before you dimly register the sound of sniffling.

“Is something wrong, Ai?” you ask, concerned, and run a comforting hand through her hair as she burrows into your chest.

“I had a bad dream,” she admits, and you hum as you tuck her head under your chin.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I—I dreamed Papa went off to war, just like now, but then he—” She stops, swallows. “But then he never came back.”

(And _oh,_ you know very well that sometimes they don’t.)

Unwilling to lie, and unwilling to tell the painful truth, you say instead: “He loves you, Ai. He won’t want to leave you alone. So I’m sure he’ll try his very best to come home safe and sound.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

She’s quiet for a moment, thinking, before she says: “Then, he’ll try extra hard to come home now that you’re here, right? Because he wouldn’t want to leave you alone, too!”

“Um.” Your already-sluggish thoughts grind to a halt. “What?”

“You said that since Papa loves me he won’t want me to be alone. So that means he won’t want _you_ to be alone either, because he loves you, too!”

“Is . . .” You swallow. “Is that right?”

“Yeah! Papa loves you, he just doesn’t know it yet!” She lets out a yawn. “He can be dense as a brick sometimes.”

“You—you think so, huh?”

_(You are,_ you think, _not awake enough to deal with this.)_

“I _know_ so. That’s why I’m sure . . ." Her words begin to slur as she starts to slip once more into unconsciousnes. “. . . he’ll be back . . . soon . . .”

You envy her a little—for her optimism, her certainty, her innocent childlike bluntness that makes you want to believe good things indeed come to those who wait.

You envy her, too, for her ability to go right back to sleep, seeing as you stay awake thinking and overthinking, the image of Kanetsugu’s retreating back as he left for battle at the forefront of your mind, keeping you up until the break of dawn.

 

\---

 

The runner comes three days later, stumbling into the Main Hall just as you’re serving the midday meal.

“Takeda’s forces have captured Katsurao Castle!”

Ice shoots through your veins, sharper and more insidious than the cold that gripped you the day you fell in the river. You have to set down the teapot so as not to spill its contents all over Lord Kenshin’s tray, and you clench your hands into fists, willing them not to tremble as fear thrums its way through your heart.

Lord Kenshin sets his chopsticks down very slowly, his usual easy smile gone, replaced with the steely focus that earned him his reputation as the God of War.

“Is that right?” he says, voice low and calm and _dangerous._ “And what has Kanetsugu got to report on the matter?”

“He . . . hasn’t got any, Milord.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like him.”

“Milord,” the runner says, bowing low, “the Takeda . . . they took Lord Kanetsugu!”

You don’t even have a moment to fully register the news before a crash sounds in the hallway, and you turn to see Ai’s face, frozen in the same mask of horror that yours must be, the remnants of the broken plate and Lord Kenshin’s dessert littering the floor around her feet.

Lord Kenshin immediately snaps back to his usual demeanor, his blue eyes wide in his paling face as he catches sight of her.

_“Ai!”_

You’re up and moving before he even says her name, stumbling out into the hallway as she turns the far corner. You don’t think, you barely even breathe, chasing flashes of pink disappearing around corridors as you run after Ai.

You find her, finally, under a cherry tree in the far corner of the garden, sitting with her knees to her chest as sobs rock her frame.

(An image superimposes itself; you think that this must’ve been what you looked like, the day your father didn’t come home.)

“Oh, _Ai,”_ you sigh, dropping to your knees next to her, draping your sleeves over her as if to shelter her from the hurt the world seems determined to throw at her.

She turns in your arms and buries her face against your shoulder, great wracking sobs tearing through her delicate frame as she cries and cries and _cries._

(You wish, desperately, that you knew the right thing to say in this situation—and you realize, despairingly, that even after all these years, you’ve never learned what that is.)

Ai looks up at you, her face a splotchy pink from crying, her ribbons in askew pink tangles, her kimono a wrinkled pink mess.

“I don’t want to lose Papa,” she says, fingers gripping tight at the fabric on your shoulders. “I don’t want to lose anyone ever again.”

“You won’t,” a smooth voice calls out from behind you, and you turn to see Lord Kenshin walking up to you, already dressed for battle. He kneels in front of Ai, placing a gentle hand atop her head and ruffling her hair.

“I swear to you, Ai. I’ll bring Kanetsugu home.”

She sniffs, rubbing at one eye with the back of her hand. “Promise?”

Lord Kenshin holds out a pinky, twining it around her much smaller one. “Promise.”

She manages a watery smile just as Kagetsugu appears, walking in as unobtrusively as he can.

“The men are ready to march, Milord,” he says, quiet and stoic as always.

With one last smile and a pat on the little girl’s head, Lord Kenshin departs for the front, leaving you and Ai under the swirl of cherry blossoms, holding each other together as you both pray desperately for everyone to come home.

 

\---

 

The agony of being left behind is another special kind of shared suffering that you and Ai bond over.

You spend more and more time in the kitchen as you both reach the unspoken agreement to lose yourselves in your work as a distraction, cooking up a storm for the few men left in the castle, cleaning the space to the point of obsession, and setting yourselves to pickling the last of the cherry blossoms just before they begin to fall.

And waiting is _torture,_ so when Yoshichi bursts into the kitchen with the news that the scouts have sighted the returning army on the road, you and Ai share only a single look before you’re both running out the door.

You shift from foot to foot, standing at the castle gates with Ai’s little hand held tightly in yours as you wait with bated breath for the man who means the world to both of you, offering up wishes and desperate prayers to any deity listening that he’ll manage to come home.

As the army gets closer, you can make out the distinctive blue of Lord Kenshin’s armor as he rides at the front.

And then, beside him, hunched over his mare’s back—looking small and tired and already halfway to death’s door—is—

_“Papa!”_

Ai’s already running, feet flying over the dusty road as tears stream down her cheeks. As you take off after her, you see the men slow their pace—perplexed, perhaps, by the distant splotch of pink streaking down the path to meet them—but then a single horse detaches from the contingent, galloping up the rest of the way to the gates.

You watch as Kanetsugu half-clambers, half-falls off his horse in his haste to get to his daughter, both of them collapsing in a tangled heap on the road as they wrap each other in an embrace. You slow down, taking in the sight of them, overwhelmed with relief and a happiness you wouldn’t trade for anything.

Your heartbeat is thundering in your ears, drowning out everything else except for that one persistent thought: _he came home._

_He came home._

A half-choked sob fights its way out of your throat, causing Kanetsugu’s head to snap up, warm brown eyes locking onto yours over Ai’s shoulder. His expression, impossibly, softens even more, and he reaches into his coat and pulls something out, holding it up by the drawstrings to show you.

But you’re already running, closing the distance, and you’re in his arms even before the sunlight hits the familiar shape of your lucky charm.

 

\---

 

It takes Kanetsugu a few days to regain the appetite for anything besides soft porridge, but when he does, you and Ai apply yourselves in the kitchen with boundless enthusiasm, and end up presenting him with such an alarming amount of all his favorite dishes that he can’t help but laugh when he sees them.

Lord Kenshin arrives just as Kanetsugu is about to tuck into his meal, sweeping into the room with an easy smile and the smell of sandalwood trailing behind him.

“Hello, Kanetsugu! Feeling better?”

“I suppose,” Kanetsugu says, tone flat, though the gratitude is clear in his eyes.

“Aaah, Kanetsugu,” Lord Kenshin says, settling down beside his retainer. “You certainly caused a lot of trouble for these two girls, you know? Even though you always scold me for—”

“I would appreciate not being compared to you in this manner, thank you.”

“It’s true, though!” Lord Kenshin insists. “They were _so_ worried when they heard—”

“Don’t touch that!” Kanetsugu snaps, slapping Lord Kenshin’s hand when he reaches for one of the onigiri. “This is _my_ food.”

“Eeeh? But Kanetsugu, there’s no way you can finish all this—”

_“Watch me.”_

“Lord Kenshin,” you say, “if you’re hungry, there’s more food in the kitchen. I’ll fetch some for you.”

“I’ll do it!” Ai volunteers, jumping up with a smile. “I’ll bring back some tea for you, too, Papa!”

“Wait, Ai,” Kanetsugu calls out, then glances back at you. “Yoshichi told me you’ve been pickling cherry blossoms?”

You nod.

“Then,” he says, turning back to Ai, “would it be alright if you brought sakura-cha instead? Rather than green tea.”

“Sure!” She nods happily, before scampering off to the kitchen.

“I’ll help you carry them, Ai!” Lord Kenshin calls after her, rising to follow her out.

“You stay away from her—!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Lord Kenshin says, sweeping out of the room as gracefully as he came in. “Rest and enjoy your food, Kanetsugu!”

Kanetsugu bristles, but as he still can’t quite get up without help he huffs and resigns himself to grumbling as he starts to eat.

The scene is so familiar, his expression so reminiscent of other times, other precious memories, that you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips. He glances at you questioningly, and you just shake your head, unsure how to put this feeling to words.

“Sick of green tea, Milord?” you ask instead.

Unexpectedly, he blushes, setting his bowl and chopsticks down as he looks away.

“Not . . . really?” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sakura-cha just seemed . . . more appropriate.”

“How so?”

He’s silent for a while, seemingly gathering his courage to say something, until: “You told me once you wanted to stay. Is that still true?”

Oh. _Oh._

Breathlessly hopeful: “Are you asking me to?”

“. . . Yes?” The blush has yet to leave his cheeks.

Your reply is soft, gentle, as if trying not to scare him off. “You sound unsure.”

“Well, there’s—still a lot of things that are uncertain, but . . .” He’s nervous, fingers drumming on his knee as he looks at everything but you. “But this is, well. It’s something I would . . . like to be selfish about.”

You smile, too happy for words. At your silence, he huffs, fiddling with the cloth of his hakama.

“So, what I’m saying, rather badly, is that—” Stumbling over his words endearingly, he sucks in a sharp breath and screws his eyes shut, before he plows on: “I’d very much like you to stay. If you still want me.”

“Lord Kanetsugu—”

“Please still want me.”

You melt.

The overabundance of emotions leaves you at a loss for words, so instead you reach out, brushing just the tips of your fingers against his cheek, waiting for him to look at you. When he does, the answer to your unspoken question is plain in his eyes, and you lean in slowly, your lips meeting halfway in the lightest press of a kiss.

_“Yes!”_

An enthusiastic cheer at the door pulls you apart almost instantly, and both of you turn to see Ai peeking in, giddy with happiness, with Lord Kenshin just behind her, wearing a teasing grin.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account,” Lord Kenshin says.

Sighing tiredly, Kanetsugu waves a hand, beckoning, but glares when Lord Kenshin starts to follow Ai into the room.

“No, not you,” he snaps. _“You_ get out.”

“Eeeehhh,” Lord Kenshin wheedles. “But Kanetsuguuu—”

_“Out!”_

Lord Kenshin takes it surprisingly well, his disappointment perhaps alleviated by the furious blush slashing across Kanetsugu’s cheeks, and he leaves with a jaunty wave and a sing-song _“Have fun!”_ as he closes the door behind him.

Ai sets down the tray, sending the cups clattering in her hasty excitement, and asks, grinning from ear to ear as she pours the tea: “Are you going to kiss her again?”

That startles a laugh out of Kanetsugu, boyish and unrestrained, and you learn that, yes, the tendency for bright-eyed, unabashed joy does indeed run in the family.

“You don’t mind, Ai?” he asks, reaching for a cup and taking a sip.

“Of course not!” Ai says, sounding almost affronted. “Because, Papa, if you kiss her you’ll be happy, and she’ll be happy, and seeing you both happy makes me very, _very_ happy!”

Kanetsugu laughs again— _happiness is a good look on him,_ you think—before he sets down his cup and carefully pulls Ai onto his lap, pressing a kiss atop her head. Then, with a grin, he covers his daughter’s eyes, ignoring her indignant protests as he leans in once more to kiss you.

You smile against his mouth, savoring the moment, the feeling, the _taste_ when he slides the very tip of his tongue across your bottom lip.

It tastes a little bit like salt, a little bit like sakura-cha, and a whole lot like spring is finally, _finally_  here.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You know what’s weird? The fact that, for a game that revolves so heavily around history, writing an SLBP fic that is both canon-compliant AND historically accurate is . . . actually really hard??? Like maaaan, I’d have finished this in half the time it took me if I didn’t have to research SO. MANY. THINGS.
> 
> Anyway, though I did take a lot of artistic liberties, I’d like to list down the facts too, just so y’all don’t leave with false information. (Also because I PUT A LOT OF EFFORT INTO RESEARCH OK PLEASE APPRECIATE IT)
> 
> 1) Kanetsugu’s age. 
> 
> I’ve read that the real Naoe Kanetsugu became a councilor to the Uesugi at twenty-two years old. It’s apparently remarkable even by their standards, and there’s mentions of him being a prodigy. However, as I understand it, he had also been serving Kenshin as a page since his youth, which I chose not to include.
> 
> 2) Yuki-usagi. 
> 
> I don’t know why I’m even bothering to put this in the notes. Maybe just as a disclaimer. 
> 
> I have no idea how modern these treats are. I don’t even know what they’re made of, seeing as I couldn’t find any recipes in English. (That’s a lie. I found one, but it says they’re made with actual snow and like, idk how legit that is.) But they are, apparently, a winter season treat, so just . . . suspend your disbelief, okay?
> 
> 3) “It is as if you are in winter, but winter always turns to spring.”
> 
> This line is found in a letter written by Nichiren, a Japanese Buddhist priest, in the 13th century. Interestingly, the woman he wrote the letter to, Myoichi, was a widow struggling to raise her children by herself.
> 
> Parallels!
> 
> 4) Lady Osen.
> 
> Lady Osen was the wife of Kanetsugu (and also his cousin) whom he married after she was widowed with no children. Kanetsugu (then Higuchi Kanetsugu) was adopted into the Naoe clan, making him the heir.
> 
> In real life she outlived Kanetsugu, but I think it’s safe to assume that in SLBP she’s either dead or otherwise unable/unwilling to stay with Kanetsugu and Ai (your loss, lady) which means SLBP Kanetsugu is free game. ;) 
> 
> 5) The Siege of Katsurao.
> 
> The Siege of Katsurao Castle is part of the Battle of Fuse—the first of the Battles of Kawanakajima, which is a series of conflicts between Takeda Shingen and Uesugi Kenshin. It’s the battle mentioned in that one ES where Kenshin steps down as Lord of the Uesugi and Kanetsugu gets captured by the Takeda. (Also known as that one ES where MC was angsting about her relationship with Kenshin, while I, personally, was just like “BITCH NVM THAT IS KANETSUGU GONNA BE OK???” Anyway.) Shingen’s forces took the castle from Murakami Yoshikiyo, who then went to the Uesugi for help. I have no idea why Voltage chose this battle for that ES, because the real Naoe Kanetsugu (and Yukimura, for that matter) wasn't even BORN yet during this time.
> 
> . . . do you see what I mean when I say it’s hard to write a fic that is both canon-compliant and historically accurate???
> 
> Incidentally, though Kenshin really did march out to help Murakami, it’s said that the siege ended in June, so . . . it’s actually supposed to be summer already but SHHH LET ME KEEP MY SEASONAL METAPHORS, OK
> 
> 6) Sakura-cha/Sakurayu.
> 
> Sakura-cha is a type of tea made by brewing pickled cherry blossoms. I’ve never tried it, but apparently it tastes mildly salty.
> 
> Also! About the green tea that keeps popping up—lmao it’s because I’ve discovered some really cool symbolism and I just had to add it despite it probably not being understood by anyone if I don’t point it out lol. There’s a Japanese saying, “ocha wo nigosu,” where ocha=“green tea” and nigosu=“to make cloudy/unclear.” As an idiom it means “to be vague/noncommital.” For this reason it’s apparently frowned upon to serve green tea in weddings. The go-to tea for weddings is sakura-cha, because cherry blossoms carry the connotation of “beginnings.” :3
> 
> . . .
> 
> Anyway, how tf did my footnotes get this long omg just kill me. If you’ve read through all of that, have all my thanks. All of them. You’re amazing and you deserve it.
> 
>  
> 
> TL;DR Thank you for sticking it out through this long ass pretentiously historical fic, I hope you liked it! :D


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